Have you ever woken up one morning and asked yourself the question:
“What the hell am I doing with my life?”
Don’t you just hate the empty feeling you get when you’ve just opened your eyes and notice the empty room you are in? Your two-person wooden bed only has you lying in it; just you, five pillows and childhood stuffed animals. You are surrounded by plastic, metal and wood. No warmth. No flesh. No beating heart, besides your own.
It’s a slightly depressive feeling, but its part of the single life.
Making a change in the situation is a dream; but a forlorn one.
You turn to the left side of the bed and hate yourself for being madly in love with someone so divine; so absolutely perfect; drop-dead-gorgeous and everything you’ve ever wanted. But you know it won’t ever turn into anything. Just like it didn’t become anything with the 11 other drop-dead-gorgeous-divine-creatures you’ve been in love with.
You turn to the right side of the bed and you start to loathe your life even more. You feel entrapped in your own fragile body. You want to break out and be free. Quiet college, take a temporary break from work, pack your bags and go on a Eurotrip. Visit the Louvre in Paris (FR), drive by Buckingham Palace in London (UK), go Nordic walking at the Lapland of Finland, eat Italian food actually made in Italy, listen to ancient folklore in Norway or visit the Picasso museum in Barcelona (SP). Just explore the world or at least mayor parts of it.
Eventually you try to crawl out of bed, but stumble back in as you lose your balance and the agony the agony splits your skull in half; the aftermath of last night’s social gathering with friends. The evening hours when life felt meaningful. That moment when those bottles of Fresita sparkling wine made you feel like life was good again, when those mouthwatering snacks made everything feel worth living for and that moment when the beats of the music and the glasses of rum coke made you forget all that you hate so much about the world you live in. That moment when those shots of tequila drowned the sorrow raging inside of you and gave you the courage to grab somebody and own the dancefloor.
At the end of it all you return home to an empty room. Exhaustion kicks in and you drift off to the realm of eternal dreams. As the day dawns and the sun shines high above the forest trees, you are in that empty state of mind mentioned above. One week later you wake up again with the same thoughts, with the same cravings and with the same empty memories. It’s a vicious circle.
Yet on Monday morning you long for the weekend to come by again, because those minor moments of bliss are all you have to live for. Those are the only moments that you don’t feel like placing a revolver in your mouth and play a game of Russian Roulette with yourself. Yes, the single life sucks.
